


(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To

by predicaments



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crushes, Cute, Fluff, Harry loves to read, Library AU, M/M, No Smut, and Louis loves to watch him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predicaments/pseuds/predicaments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is library boy and Louis doesn't read books, but he will for Harry. </p><p>Or, the one where Louis sees Harry in the library and then makes it his quest to attain this wonderful enigma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To

**Author's Note:**

> Um, ok, this is my first 1D fic. I've been writing this for eight months, since starting it in December, back when I was a One Direction newbie, and then I continuously procrastinated until tonight (or this morning, really). Being my first 1D fic, I really hope it's okay, and being written in December firstly, it obviously still has Zayn in it, and Eleanor was still in the picture and a lot has changed since then and the planning of this fic, but I hope it still chimes relevant and interesting to everybody. The title is taken from the great Weezer song of the same name.
> 
> Oh, and it's set in 2010, but all the boys are 18, so drinking is totally legal. (Unless you're American, of course.)
> 
> (Keep in mind that everything is fictional, this is in no way real. It's all for fun.)

Sometimes you just sort of see a person and they’re there and you’re left wondering how you’d ever not seen them before. You crane your head, look backwards, try to stop but your feet are part of an endless progression down the hallways of school and you can’t stop when there are people on all sides of you who are taller, better looking, and have bigger fists.  
Well, Louis would usually be adamant in telling anyone who will listen that he’s not one to give in to anything, never matter the tough guy stuck behind him who’s pissed off at life enough already as it is. But. That would be a lie. Louis doesn’t want a knuckle sandwich today, thank you. He tells himself to forget the cute guy sitting alone in the library because, what the hell, Louis has never seen this guy before, doesn’t know him, shouldn’t get caught up in his ridiculous curly hair that’s hiding a face that Louis can’t help get sad at the probable prospect of never seeing again. Then again, this guy does attend his school, so it won’t be that hard to find him anyway, despite the small fact that the school is filled with nearly one thousand kids from ages eleven to eighteen. What if this guy is eleven? Does Louis know for sure how old he is? He could be some cute baby! Louis doesn’t want a crush on an eleven year old, thanks.  
Swerving to avoid some girl crashing through the corridor with a huge backpack swinging from her shoulders, carrying a guitar case, Louis nearly loses his footing, but manages to grab onto Liam’s sleeve just in time, letting himself get sucked back up with the current. He tears his eyes away from the glass-fronted library – just a (rather small for a library) room off the side off the main corridor of the school, soft, pale wood double doors and loads of plastic shelves on sickly yellow walls, all scattered tables and mismatching chairs, stained green carpet and three old computers pressed to the side of the room, wary fans clogged with dust that ruin any chance of silence that is pleaded for with several crudely drawn posters up around the place.  
Then Liam’s tugging Louis along and Louis guesses he was in a kind of trance because he’s snapped out of it when Liam stops kind of abruptly and the chatter dies out around them, slowly though, as people head off to the canteen or outside to eat their lunches.  
They’re at the water cooler – them, as in Louis’ best friends; Liam, Zayn and Niall – and it’s only when Louis spots Zayn’s glare that he realises he’s still attached to Liam’s school jumper sleeve. Louis lets go and watches as Liam fills up his water bottle, watches Zayn drink Liam in as he takes a swig, Adams apple bobbing over the water, and thinks, he knows what’s going on there.  
It’s just a normal lunch time for them, forty minutes of their joking, undisturbed, and of Zayn pressing too close to Liam, close enough that Louis notices it now, and wonders how Niall and Liam are still oblivious. Despite Niall actually talking about One Tree Hill – something Louis has been trying to get him on board with for ages – Louis cannot focus on that win when all he sees is the curly boys’ hair, stuck on the thought that he shouldn’t be alone, sitting in the library with a book Louis couldn’t make out in front of him. Louis hopes he was just waiting for his friends, hoping he doesn’t spend every lunch time alone, hopes he’s happy. Louis couldn’t imagine not hanging out with Niall, Zayn and Liam every lunch time, couldn’t imagine sitting alone just reading, when he could be laughing and joking and making plans for the weekend.  
But, who’s he to judge? It’s not like Louis and his friends are cool – and maybe hanging out in the school library is the new thing. It’s certainly warmer in there than outside, especially at this time in the year.  
“Mate?” Niall’s waving a hand in front of Louis where they’re standing outside, backs against the wall beside the Design and Technology classrooms, cold air messing up their fringes and Louis wishes the school uniform was more resistant against the weather.  
“Huh?” Louis asks, seeing Niall’s stare right in his own eyes, hair newly bleached and moving in the wind.  
“We were talking about the party, not next week but the one after. You’re coming, right?” Niall asks, and Louis glances over to see Zayn and Liam pressed tight next to each other, and despite Zayn’s serious face, Louis can see in his eyes the grey there filling with white light, bright and consistent it nearly hurts so Louis looks away because that emotion isn’t meant for him but for Liam, and his friends’ obliviousness is utterly hopeless.  
“Huh,” Louis repeats again, ears feeling like they’re hollow and Niall is speaking underwater, muffled and deep, and the sky is nothing special today, in fact, it looks more boring than usual, but the clouds look like the boy in the library’s hair, curling around a face as big as the universe. “Huh, yeah, course I am, mate. Eleanor’s party, right? Should be a good one.”  
“Hopefully,” Niall agrees, “She said her parents were gonna leave it all alone so there’ll be alcohol and no chance of it being crashed.”  
“Well, that’s a relief – remember when Tom’s parents came home early and his dad literally chucked us out of the door?” Louis chuckled, before it turned into a sigh as the bell rang, signalling the start of last period. The wind motivated choruses of school students to troop dejectedly back into the building, laughter dying out as teachers hurried everyone into their classrooms, cold air a deterrent against fun.  
Louis walked to his class alone because Niall, Zayn and Liam’s last classes were all on the other side of the school. It gave Louis time to walk slowly and think before he arrived – and if he went the long way that went past the library, well, no one has to know, right? Anyway, the bloody place was empty when Louis went passed it, trying not to look too eager, and Louis’ not about to admit how his heart actually dropped when he didn’t see the boy with the curly hair and the eyes trained on the book in his hands.  
\---  
The next day, Louis’ nearly forgotten all about the mysterious boy from the library, and definitely isn’t expecting to see him again, his head only twists to look into through the glass windows when he, Zayn, Niall and Liam walk past out of Louis’ love for books. Yeah, definitely.  
And when Louis sees the boy in there again, same table, same position – hunched over a book – well, it was hardly obvious when Louis’ steps slowed down just a fraction, head turning to take in the site. This boy; all white skin and chocolate brown hair, curls flicking out over his ears. He’s looking down but Louis still spots unnaturally pink lips, neck disappearing into his school uniform, hands curling around the edges of his book so naturally it almost makes Louis want to go and pick up a book and just sit and read. Just admire what he is with the light from the huge library windows behind him framing every outspoken hair, creating a halo of soft yellow cream light that frames him as if the sun knows this boy is special and shines on him solely.  
Louis smiles when he reads the title – a book of famous peoples’ last words. Louis doesn’t really know any famous last words, but the idea of a whole book about them, however morbid, seems like a cool thing to read. He knows Spike Milligan said ‘I told you I was ill’, and his history teacher last year told the class that Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria Hungary’s last words were ‘it is nothing…it is nothing’ – after he’d just been shot by Gavrillo Princip in Sarajevo. Louis muses that it certainly was something, but he guesses last words can’t all be witty or clever or something life-changing. Louis supposes that on your death bed – or death car, in Franz’s case – you’re probably not too wound up in what’s coming out your mouth as your life is slipping away. Irony is still a pretty good note to end on, though. Wit would be best.  
The boy nearly stirred in his seat then, as if he knew Louis’s thoughts were focused on him and it was infiltrating his brain waves. Louis kind of wanted him to look up so he’d see what colour his eyes were – would see if they looked at Louis with kindness or with indifference, if they lit up or they were dull, flat. Louis hoped they’d be brighter than anything he’d ever seen, hoped it would be like looking into the sun, staring at a new lightbulb, touching the radiator when it’s cold outside, feeling the tips of your fingers fizz with warmth like the skin of a peach, as round and as spilling with juice as the sun.  
He didn’t look up. He shifted in his seat, and that’s when Louis noticed the white earbuds in his ears, headphones connected to an iPod that looked brand new (or just very well looked after). Louis’ own iPod was the direct opposite from the boy’s – his was battered and chipped, screen scarred from misuse and battery failing. Louis wondered if this boy would take as good care with Louis’ body as with his iPod. Would he touch Louis slowly, softly, trailing his fingers like Louis was sacred – press his thumbs into Louis’ cheeks when he touches his face, lips hovering centimetres above Louis’, so close Louis can taste his breath on his lips, can see his eyes finally, his pink lips, those curls just brushing Louis’ forehead? Then Louis will angle his chin up, their lips will meet – or – or, he’ll bury his nose in this boy’s neck, and Louis suddenly needs to know what he smells like.  
Oh. God. Louis nearly groans.  
He’s seen this boy twice for God’s sake.  
Louis is nearly glad for the guy behind him who pushes him forward with a ‘watch where you’re going’, and rushes to keep up with Niall, Liam and Zayn as if the stares Zayn directs at Liam’s pure face will help distract Louis from who he’s quickly been referring to as ‘library boy’.  
\---  
It’s Niall, not Louis, who leads them past the library the next day, so Louis blames it on Niall when he turns and stares again, eyes trained on the table where, predictably, unsurprisingly, the boy is sat. Today there’s no iPod beside him, and Louis wonders suddenly if he can hear Louis’ heart beating from through the glass between them, wonders if his pulse is rushing in his ears, or if the only thing this boy can hear is the silence of the near deserted library, a juxtaposition from the careless noise and chatter of the corridor Louis is standing in.  
Today the boy is reading The Catcher In The Rye, and Louis has heard of it but has never picked it up so has no idea what it’s about, but is pretty sure it’s probably really intellectual because this boy just radiates intelligence – and Louis almost thinks what a catch before he realises, he’s not a fisherman, and he hasn’t caught anything – staring at a boy through the glass in the library does certainly not count as having him in any way, and anyway, no one owns another person, or eats them, so there’s no catch going on and now Louis is just rambling and he can tell Niall, Liam and Zayn are looking at him weirdly before he actually sees them.  
“Mate, you coming?” Niall asks, before Louis turns away from the library hastily and tries to ignore his heart pounding because he never thought he was attracted to guys who love to read and spend their lunch times in the library before, but he guesses he is because Louis can’t seem to think of anything but. This is absolutely ridiculous, he thinks: it feels like he’s driving too fast down a deserted road in the middle of summer, sticky and face melting against the moon, too clear against a sky that resembles the bottom of the ocean (or a Jack Daniels bottle).  
Louis tries to join in with his friends as they discuss what’s going to go down at Eleanor’s party, but all he can think about is whether library boy will be there.  
\---  
One time the boy is reading a book on how to survive the apparently impending zombie apocalypse (and Louis nearly scoffs at that, not taking this boy as someone who would be all into the living dead), then on Friday he’s reading To Kill A Mockingbird and Louis can’t help but wonder how many books he’ll get through over the weekend.  
Louis wonders if library boy goes out at the weekend, if next week he’ll be at Eleanor’s party, and maybe Louis will see him with some friends, or maybe a girlfriend or boyfriend or something and Louis’ heart tightens just at that thought. Louis hopes he will be at the party – Eleanor is one of those people who, when she throws a party, everyone turns up, so if the guy is in Louis’ year, then chances are, he’ll be at the party. And Louis knows he could just ask Zayn or Liam or Niall if they know him or something, because Zayn’s kind of popular and knows all these obscure arty types, but he’s not ready to deal with the certain teasing that will ensue, or the embarrassment if this guy is eleven or something. So, Louis keeps quiet and tries to forget as he walks past the library at lunch and sees the guy in there that he won’t see him all weekend and instead preoccupies himself by letting his eyes be mesmerized by the way, although a typical grey English cloud is covering the sun, this boy still seems to radiate light. Louis can’t believe that no one else is staring at him like Louis is. He’s like the sun and Louis feels like all the planets should orbit him like Louis feels the need to, endlessly cycling around him while everyone else passes by his table in the library without batting an eyelid.  
Louis breathes in one last time and tries to remember the last time he ever didn’t want to leave school for the weekend and the heavy warmth of his bed.  
Never. Louis is pretty sure.  
\---  
The weekend drags on and Louis tries to keep himself preoccupied by playing football, but Niall’s out busy with family all weekend, and both Liam and Zayn are mysteriously not answering his texts so Louis is pretty suspicious about that. Basically, Louis has nothing to do but think about the library boy, so he spends his days googling the books the boy was reading and cheating by reading the plots on Wikipedia just so if – if – conversation is ever to arise, he’d know what to say, and listening to Look After You by The Fray. Because. Well, Louis doesn’t know why but it seems appropriate and if he dreams of chocolate-coloured curls on Sunday night, on Monday morning he certainly doesn’t remember.  
\---  
Louis isn’t sure why his body clock wakes him up at five am on Monday, but he’s bloody pissed at it because that leaves him three hours to spare before he has to start walking to school. So Louis certainly doesn’t lie in bed for two and a half of them thinking about the way the sun curls around the boy in the library like it’s trying to protect him from the rest of the world or something; like he’s special. And, Louis muses, there’d probably never be night if he’s with the boy, because it seems like the sun lives for him, lives to light up his hair as he sits hunched over a different book every day, teeth caught on his bottom lip as if he doesn’t know how he affects Louis. Which, he doesn’t, but that’s not the point, is it? The point is, Louis hopes there’s never an eclipse because it would mean the boy wouldn’t be lit up like he deserves to be, and anyway, Louis doubts the sun would ever allow itself to be covered up from touching the boy. Sunlight and some people just seem to go together, and the boy in the library is one of those people.  
But, that doesn’t mean Louis doesn’t want to see this boy at night, because he imagines the moon and the stars together could still do him justice, and anyway, he’d probably look hella sexy with like, starlight lighting up half of his face in a metallic glow like polished silverware and then the other half of him bathed in shadows. Like some sort of sexy-as-hell assassin who works under the cover of darkness and could kill Louis by taking his breathe away. Death by sexiness. It’s plausible.  
This then, of course, leads Louis to think about Eleanor’s party this Saturday and if maybe (hopefully) (please God) the boy will attend. Consequently, Louis’ off on a tangent in his head about how the boy would look drunk, if he would get drunk, how he’d look with alcohol induced red cheeks, only blooms of colour high on those cheeks like crimson rose petals or dripping candlewax or something else equally ridiculous. How he’d have parted Disney princess pink lips, breath hot and cider-scented and how his Adam’s apple would bob like a buoy riding on the top of gently rolling waves when he swallows his alcohol or the air and the noise and the dust of the party or Louis’ breath as their lips collide. Louis can feel his curls beneath his fingertips, soft like honey, like how Louis hopes his voice is, bouncy and so goddamn just curly, Louis can’t describe, he’s no poet, just endless curls. Curling on, under Louis’ hands, like waves on top of his head every time he moves.  
Louis also thinks of the boys’ eyes. Hoping they’ll be Bambi-wide and soft as a fawn; molten; melting lava and Louis won’t care if the iris is bright pink or demon-black, they’ll be beautiful on this boy no matter what.  
Louis groans and groans, sighs, because he can’t believe he’s thinking like some sort of pretentious English student, like Zayn maybe, but even Zayn doesn’t talk like Louis was just thinking. Does anyone? Fuck it, Louis scrubs a hand over his face and tries to bite down on the sudden thought about how the boy’s hands would feel on Louis’ cheeks. If they would wrap around his bicep the same way they wrap around the books the boy is always reading.  
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Louis gets up too fast, leaving the safety of his bed and cursing under his breath as he dresses in double time – ignoring the small fact that he just spent three hours of his life thinking about a boy he’s never even spoken to.  
\---  
The sun is shining through the classroom windows almost too bright, each class resolved to sweating rooms of boredom, and Louis is the first one up and out of his seat when the bell for lunch rings, shrill and high, around the corridors, rebounding off walls and instantly perking up otherwise more-then-half-asleep students.  
And, almost like routine by now, despite the fact that it’s only been a week since Louis first saw him, library boy is sitting at his table as Louis passes, and like no exception, Louis turns his head to watch him as his feet drag him down the corridor. This time the boy is reading a book on how to write a novel and Louis nearly swoons because the ambition. The genius! Reading a book about how to write a book! Not just diving right in there, but taking his sweet goddamn time about it. Although, Louis knows the book this guy may write would be perfect, as is probable that everything this guy does is, even if he wrote it high off his mind in a made-up language that doesn’t make sense with handwriting about as legible as scribbles. Louis doesn’t even focus on the way the sun, that seemed so bright in the confining classroom, shines down upon this boy like his personal halo, soft and sweet as a lemon, blanketing him in life (that’s the only way Louis can really find to describe it), when his tongue is poking out from in between his lips like that. That. That goddamn boy. What’s he trying to do to Louis? Give him a bloody heart attack? Seems likely, with that concentrated face so goddamn cute, tongue pink as dawn, new and exciting, sending fizzes down Louis’s back.  
Louis registers that this crush is so fucking screwed up. It’s getting out of hand; a stranger. At least Zayn has a crush on someone who is his age, shares all common interests and is already his best friend. Really quite a big shame that Liam is so oblivious. But Louis’s crush on a boy from the library – well that’s just some fictional shit from a badly written story right there.  
\---  
On Tuesday, Louis feels butterflies crawling up his windpipe and clogging his breath when he follows Niall, Zayn and Liam through the corridor and past the library. The library boy has got some lined paper and a pen in front of him, concentrated face staring over the crumpled balls of apparently failed attempts and his iPod is back, sitting serenely on the table and God does Louis want to know what he’s listening to so he can croon it down the corridor and into the library and maybe the boy will look up and see Louis and–  
Wednesday isn’t good. Louis fails on a maths paper they did in class, got a E, and tries to ignore Liam’s happy little gasp at a C, Zayn murmuring soft into his ear, smile proud, Niall grinning in the background because he doesn’t really care about maths but he’s always smiling for the sake of it; but Louis cares. He’s almost angry at Liam for a second – but it’s not innocent little Liam’s fault if Louis stayed up way too late last night listening to James Morrison and thinking about library boy and those god forsaken cheeks. Liam did text Louis to remember to revise, to prepare. But Louis ignored it. So. It’s all his fault, but he can’t help the swell of bitter distaste crash and roar like a tidal wave in his ears, blinding his eyes, at the age-old revelation that he sucks at maths. Louis even thinks there was a passage written in the Old Testament about how much he sucks at maths. It’s that bad.  
But Louis really, really, can’t help it when he wonders if library boy is any good at the subject. Like, he could be Louis’ tutor –  
But then Louis sees him sitting carefully, quietly, in his table in the library, alone as is no surprise at this point, grasping a book of poems by E. E. Cummings, and Louis can’t imagine anything else but the boy whispering hushed lines into Louis’ ear for the rest of the day–  
\---  
i like your body. i like what it does,  
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
of your body and its bones,and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which i will  
again and again and again  
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
\---  
(I do not know what it is about you that closes  
and opens; only something in me understands  
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
\---  
Thursday’s different. Maybe marginally to some. But to Louis – Thursday is in a world of its own. So goddamned different it’s got motherfucking wings (and maybe green eyes too.)  
Yes. Fuck.  
Everything’s all boring before – an ever-accumulating pile of homework, his French teacher shouts at him because Louis can’t answer an apparently easy question, and the cherry on the cake, no slices of meat-feast pizza left in the canteen. So, Louis’ day is sucking, hard.  
But then, of course, amongst all the shit, sitting next to Zayn and Liam in Science, watching them talk to each other, seeing the look in Zayn’s eyes that Louis wants to see in library boy’s eyes when he looks at Louis. Well, Louis decides that he should just talk to the bloody library guy. Not like there’s anything to lose, say hi, scope him out, hope he’s not a jerk.  
There’s only two outcomes really, a 50/50 chance, so. Really, Louis can either get a potential date (maybe to El’s party) or – or – he’s rejected abysmally and his stomach’s already aching at the thought but –  
No.  
Louis will do this.  
He will march into the library, he will not be quiet (suck on that, Mrs “don’t talk in here” you old hag), he will sit next to the boy and he will open his goddamn mouth and he will talk.  
It’s easy, really, Louis tells himself. Despite how his lips are stiff and his throat feels like it’s closing up, speech can’t be that hard.  
…Maybe alcohol would be better for a venture such as this? Louis thinks for two seconds before he stamps the idea down and, in his head, puffs up his chest; he can do this.  
Yes, siree.  
So, Louis’s walking past the library for what feels like the hundredth time, Liam, Niall and Zayn ahead of him. Louis turns his head, expecting to see what he always sees, eyes searching for it, for the boy, like a junky in need of their daily fix.  
Louis nearly stumbles, feels his whole body falter, when the table is empty. It’s like a hammer to the back of his head; a pickaxe in his back, all bad things everywhere, but especially in his lungs, where there should be breathing going on there’s only hurt. Like, Louis feels as if maybe this is some sort of deity telling him that he doesn’t deserve a relationship or a crush or whatever, because what a huge bloody coincidence this is. The one day – and the boy isn’t here. Almost as if he’d known and had stayed away to avoid Louis, a clear sign for Louis that well, he should give up now.  
Aware that Liam, Niall and Zayn are probably looking at him weirdly, kind of weak and weirdly dizzy, Louis forces his legs to move, tries to ignore the feeling like he’s swimming through choking tar as he pivots.  
And then, right there in front of him, like a shockwave of a revival – like the things the Doctors use to shock people back to life? – the boy is there; Louis nearly ran into him. And, oh God. He’s so close Louis could almost kiss him, those lips so red it’s like he’s just been biting into strawberries running with juice, or else that’s some sort of cherry lip-gloss, most definitely. His hair is bouncing just above his ears, loose curls that give Louis the sudden urge to reach up and tug on them slightly; see if the boy angles his head ever so; would smile down at Louis. That smile, it’s almost like they know Louis’s obsession; or maybe it’s just obvious, Louis’s probably wearing an open mouth and wide eyes, and he’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing, heart trying to pound out of his ribcage and into the boy’s hands. Louis wants to kiss him. His smile is the moon at midnight, lighting up everything so Louis can finally see. And his eyes, wow, Louis realises his imagination is shit compared to reality. They’re like goddamn emeralds and that’s the most cliché thing Louis has ever even thought, but they really are. It’s like looking into a clear liquid pool and being able to see everything at the bottom in sharp quality – so clear and alive. Oh, shit, the eyes start flooding with confusion slightly; Louis notices the furrowed brows, leaving a slight crease on the boy’s forehead. Well – Louis has been staring up at this guy for what seems like hours like some obsessed stalker (which he’s not – he’s not! Just interested).  
But, one thing Louis can say for sure is that this guy is certainly not eleven.  
“Louis,” He hears vaguely, Liam’s voice breaking through a kind of trance that had settled upon Louis’s bones. The library guy (taller, looking up at him nearly makes Louis’s mouth go dry) breaks his gaze, standing back a step, and the clamour and incessant noise of school floods back to Louis’s ears almost like a bomb that had just nose-dived to earth would cause silence for a couple of seconds as its destruction is unleashed, before the distortion, disorientation, and the ringing in peoples’ ears begins.  
“Louis, man.” Niall’s voice is louder than Liam’s, as is expected, and Louis turn toward the sound quickly, feeling the flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks, burning his face hot as if his heart was unable to keep up with its quick pattering and burst. Out of his peripheral vision, Louis sees a faint kind of smirk, almost smug, etch its way onto library boy’s lips, and Louis realises library boy now knows his name, wonders if anything will come from it, before his legs start moving and, hunched in on himself in embarrassment, anxiety curling its way into Louis’s stomach, he follows his friends back down the corridor and doesn’t look back.  
Zayn, Liam and Niall don’t seem to have noticed the strange exchange between Louis and library boy, or if they do, they give no inkling of it. Well, Zayn does throw a couple of weird looks in Louis’s direction, but that mustn’t be due to the flush in Louis’s cheeks that doesn’t seem to leave, right?  
\---  
On Friday Louis avoids the library like he avoids homework and revision. Like the plague, a bomb, anything that means he really fucking avoids it. He’s also uncharacteristically quiet, just musing all lunch time, basically, unable to think in lessons because his head’s clouded (Louis wonders if his judgement will be clouded at Eleanor’s party on Saturday, and wonders how much he’s gonna drink and how bad it’s gonna be). Louis knows Zayn, Liam and Niall notice he’s being too un-Louis-like, but he can’t seem to stop himself thinking enough to send them a smile or join in to their conversation properly. Instead Louis tries to pretend to be pumped for Eleanor’s party, and hopes his chest won’t feel too winded if the library boy with the eyes and the curls and the lips doesn’t turn up – or turns up with someone else. Zayn and Liam, being the observing detective duo they are – Sherlock and John, and Louis knows how much everyone ships those two (it’s a sign) – keep sending confused looks to Louis all day, almost like they want to ask him about it, but whenever it seems they’re about to, Louis very obviously (although not obvious enough for Niall to notice) launches into the lull in the conversation with a stupid joke and an almost-fake laugh. Louis knows it’s pretty unusual for him to not tell his best friends about a boy he’s into, but this all feels different, so surreal, but almost more real than anything else, and Louis’s lack of words kind of sums up why he can’t tell his friends. It’s better than words so there’s no point in using any.  
Louis really can’t fucking wait for El’s party tomorrow night. He hopes there’ll be a lot of fucking vodka.  
\---  
So, Louis knows Eleanor, quite well considering the fact that they dated for three weeks in year seven. She dumped him because Louis wouldn’t kiss her, but they stuck as friends, despite being totally opposite to each other. She was nice, she threw good parties, and being friends with her meant Louis turned up twenty minutes or so early to help her set up or whatever (basically meaning, to get the booze before everyone else).  
Promising his mum he wouldn’t be back too late, and wouldn’t wake up the girls while trying to get quietly into bed while drunk, Louis left for El’s around half passed eight. Ten minutes later and he stood in front of her house, windows lit and bright, looking the same as Louis’s house, and every fricking house around where they lived, really. Everything was the same here.  
Louis doesn’t bother to knock before he goes in. It’s only Eleanor and two of her girl friends, and they mostly ignore Louis except for a polite smile. Eleanor comes up to hug Louis and she smells like flowers and perfume and girl, but Louis only wants to smell sunlight glinting of library boy’s smile, smell the happiness and beauty he radiates that makes Louis want to sigh and curl up in a blanket.  
He smiles anyway, pulls back and tries not to let his mind wonder as he gets everything ready for the party.  
\---  
By half nine, everything’s in full swing. Louis has had a different drink every twenty minutes or so, but he’s not drunk, not really. He keeps putting down his half-finished drink on a counter in the kitchen or on a side table, and then forgetting about it. By the time he comes back, the drink’s either gone, or knocked over and dribbling cider, strong smelling and sparkling, staining the carpet and stickying the counter-tops. It’s all good, though, because looking around, all Louis sees is happy faces, spots El a couple times throughout the night, drink in hand, mouth wide with a smile, dancing with her friends. He sees Liam, Zayn and Niall when they arrive: but now Niall’s gone off in pursuit of a girl, and Liam and Zayn have been so close (and that kind of tipsy that verges on drunk but’s not) all evening, Louis can’t bear to get between their pressed together, flushed bodies when he’s rooting for Zayn to go ahead and make a move, because everyone knows Liam is the epitome of oblivious and won’t know it until it hits him. Hits him as in Zayn’s lips. Or something.  
Yeah, Louis is kind of tipsy – but he doesn’t want to get drunk, is content just buzzing on the edges like this, so the lights feel soft on his bare arms and even sitting alone and trying to watch out for library boy doesn’t seem lonely.  
It’s nearing ten, probably, when Louis seems him – eyes trained on the front door just waiting for this moment. And it actually happens. Nick Grimshaw comes through first, swaggering like he’s the life of the party, case of beer in hand. The air that the open door lets in is cold and Louis feels it like a hurricane around his body, thin t-shirt suddenly not enough, cider not making him drunk enough to feel warm all over. Louis takes a long gulp from the can, tries not to wince at its dulling, cheap ring in his mouth, lingering. His taste buds protest feebly, but even they’re starting to lose control, (drunk taste buds, isn’t that weird?) and Louis shrugs and takes another gulp, suddenly wanting to get drunk. Louis doesn’t really like Nick Grimshaw. Always thought the man was a little too far up his own ass, all ‘I’m so cool and in the older year, look at all the beer I snag, all the blokes I get’. Well, Louis is not jealous. It’s just annoying that Zayn, Liam and Niall are friendly with the guy, cheering as he walks in, beer bottles up in a salutary greeting.  
But then Louis notices Nick’s hand clasped tightly around someone’s wrist. Well, fuck. Library boy steps in through the door, all tall beauty and curls that Louis missed. He looks so much better when he’s at ease, soft smile, at this drunken, relaxed atmosphere, instead of never looking over at Louis in school even when Louis feels like his heart is bursting. But, man, Louis’s heart is literally shaking right now, his whole body is shaking, and Louis nearly spills his cider over his hand, steadies it just in time, puts it down on a small table next to the couch he’s sitting on. Another wasted drink. He doesn’t need it anymore, not when his head is overwhelmingly fuzzy just from seeing the library boy. So, the boy is either in Nick’s year or Louis’s year, right? Considering all the people from Louis’s year going up to Nick’s little group – Louis sees Cara Delevingne behind the boy, all breath-taking beauty that leaves most males tripping over their feet – it’s safe to presume they share the same year. Which is why it’s so weird Louis doesn’t know this guy. How can he not know him? Is Louis that much of a loner that he literally has no clue who this apparently popular dude is? Especially when… is that Zayn, Liam and Niall going up to them? Yes it is. What the fuck? Okay, cool, literally everybody knows this guy, Louis’s best friends are apparently friendly with this guy, and yet Louis has absolutely no clue as to who he is.  
Louis settles back into the couch, watches Cara slip off her expensive looking coat and hang it up next to the door, tries to check out the boy’s body unnoticeably as people dance together wildly in front of him. He’s wearing a purple Jack Wills hoody, all cheeky half-grins and fucking dimples, ratty converse on his feet. Nick is looking impeccably groomed as always, Louis shifts in his seat as he looks at him…he really can’t stand the guy. Louis suddenly wants his drink back, but resists the urge to reach behind him and pick it up. He doesn’t want to get drunk. Drunk-Louis is embarrassing and can’t walk in a straight line and is too clingy, all ‘look at me, look what I can do’. It’s not happening.  
Louis breathes in once; a huge gulp of air that does nothing for his lungs buts sends a sweaty taste swirling in his stomach, the smell of alcohol overwhelming and unpleasant. The air is thick with perspiration; it’s disgusting and Louis finds it hard to breathe over the music banging in his head. ‘Louder’ by DJ Fresh is playing and normally Louis loves this song but shit speakers are making it all crackly and Louis seems to be the only one who notices.  
Niall is talking to Louis’s library boy. They’re laughing and smiling together and fuck Louis really has been missing out. He knows he could just go up there and talk to Niall, Niall would introduce them, it’d all be fine. But Louis can’t do it. He presses his back into the sofa, looks up at the clock on the wall and thinks he can almost hear it ticking in his head. Louis wonders why he can’t be happy. Sitting alone at a party is fucking lame. Louis is fucking lame. He doesn’t even want to get drunk, just watches as Liam and Zayn follow Nick into the kitchen down the hall, how Niall fist bumps the library boy with a cheeky grin before walking back and getting lost in the crowd, swallowed up as Louis gulps around his dry mouth. Louis watches as Cara drapes herself over library boy’s back, all perfect face and lips so close to his ear Louis almost doesn’t realise he’s fisting his t-shirt between clenched fingers and wills his body to lighten up. They’re both smiling and laughing, so comfortable with each other, in each other’s space, that Louis wonders if they’re together. If so, they look good together. But Louis can’t help be disappointed. Especially when Cara takes the boy’s hand and leads him in the direction Nick, Liam and Zayn went in. Library boy’s eyes flick up and over in Louis’s direction as he walks out, and Louis barely remembers how to dip his head in time, wills himself not to blush. Library boy didn’t see him right? Staring like an idiot, and hunched alone on a sofa that should sit three. Fucking dumbass, Louis is, really, truly. If the boy did see him, now he’s gonna think Louis is a total nut – especially is he recognises him from Thursday.  
Well. Louis takes another breath. It doesn’t matter. (It really does though.)  
Instead, he vows to enjoy himself, gets up and plasters a smile on his face, ambles around nodding politely and engaging in small talk with people he recognises from school. It’s okay, even though Niall’s occupied knocking back drinks and chatting away to girls, and Liam and Zayn are in their own little world; all too busy to bother to come up to him all night, Louis is fine. He finds Stan instead, and Stan’s cool, Louis and him were pretty tight when they were younger, all into Pokémon and football. Stan’s got a personality like a drum, all loud, loud, loud – Louis loves it. All the joking around; the ‘bro!’ and the ‘lads!’ and the feelings of manliness. Louis smiles and it’s half-way to genuine and he doesn’t think about library boy.  
But then it’s too stuffy, the beer Stan’s friends keep pushing on Louis is too much, and he’s not going to get drunk – he’s not. So, when Stan’s friends start getting all macho, punching each other and making obscene gestures and remarks, Louis guesses he’s done with being one of the manly men. It’s just not him. He finds it kind of weird, actually, all these eighteen year old guys being so stereotypically British – rowdy teens, drunk, avoiding any kind of adulthood with alcohol. Maybe Louis used to kind of be like that, yeah, but now… Well, Louis feels like he doesn’t belong here – this isn’t his place; his scene – it’s all boys and girls and no boys and boys…it reminds Louis too much of last year: when he was still in the closet, still trying to fake it as a straight boy and crying at midnight, drunk out of his mind, because he knew he resembled a puppet on heteronormative strings. Makeup-ed face painting a straight-boy-smile.  
However, the smile turned into a grimace and Louis couldn’t play-pretend anymore. He was different. He is. Louis knows it now – it’s okay. He just needs a little convincing sometimes. And it’s not like anyone really had a problem with it, really. A few remarks here and there from people who accidently found out in school, his grandparents were a little confused; but apart from that, Louis felt supported and happy and it was all going to be okay. (And if Zayn and (hopefully) Liam are anything to go by, Louis’s not the only one who likes guys in their group). It was just, Louis had always imagined some kind of huge change when he came out, maybe a nice boyfriend by now – but Nick Grimshaw was pretty much the only gay dude Louis knows – and no. No. Louis is still single and that pretty much really sucks.  
It’s all okay, though. It really is. Louis is lucky to have the support from his closest friends and family, he knows that, he looked up loads of coming out stuff before he actually did it, and not all of it was positive. His mum still loves him more than anything, and Lottie and Fizzy are supportive although they’re still young so they don’t fully understand, and obviously Daisy and Phoebe have no clue, but his sisters love him, they always will, Louis knows that.  
Louis excuses himself quickly, efficiently; trying to blink back sudden tears because why why does he always have to start thinking? Too much alcohol in his system and although he can hardly feel it anymore, it’s making him reflect and regret and now Louis feels even worse. With an almost frustrated huff at himself – barely audible – Louis stutters out a swift ‘see ya’ to Stan and some of his random friends who had started to crowd around Louis like vultures (they didn’t mean too but Louis couldn’t stop thinking now and everyone seemed to be leering, alcohol smiles and fake eyes). Then he’s pushing his way out through the dense crowd, trying to suck in his stomach so he doesn’t touch anyone and risk letting out a shudder or an unpleasant flinch.  
He finds himself in El’s back garden, right where he wanted to be. For once Louis is glad he ended up where he did. The sky is dark like the inside cave of someone’s mouth, and he can imagine that everyone is just food for the universes’ gaping stomach; stars are teeth that threaten to crash and crunch them all to dust. Louis normally finds stars beautiful. Tonight when he looks up his stomach swoops and the mouth of the sky and all its little star teeth seem far too close and Louis suddenly fears mortality. His eyes reflect the night sky, all their eyes do, gleaming with moonlight and Louis has to shake his head as he leans against the wall of the house outside, sturdy and never-moving, sempiternal, so it calms him slightly. He tries to dislodge the stars from his eyes, hoping to shake them like tears. But then he feels actually tears spring to his eyes, wetting the edge of his pinked skin. Stifling a soft sob, Louis blinks and blinks trying to will them away. He tilts his head back until it rests against the stone, eyes almost closed and mouth dry and cold air dreaming with the smell of smoke all Louis can feel around him.  
People are lying on the patio, close enough to the house so the distinct thud of music is still audible, but distant enough so it’s all a muffled blur. Cigarettes are lit and people are drinking, but it’s okay out here because Louis is content to just watch as smoke unfurls from the end of lit cigarettes, curling out faster into the sky until eventually it dissipates and is gone. There’s no claustrophobia here, only peace; no sweat or the nauseating smell of alcohol. Louis thinks about smoking, but then he remembers he doesn’t really like it that much, it kind of grew old for him quickly and he never managed to ace the technique of smoking with coughing up a lung or two. He kind of wants to feel the scratchy poison pulling like jagged nails at his tender throat plush, wants to feel his body responding as it should for once. Anyway, Louis doesn’t have any cigarettes, and he doesn’t want to go back inside and ask Zayn because he doesn’t know where he is, and he’s probably getting intimate with Liam and Louis isn’t stumbling in on that. And Louis, scanning the area while trying not to catch anyone’s eyes, decides he doesn’t really know anyone outside, so he’s sure as hell not asking them. It’s a little sad, Louis can’t stop musing, that he literally feels so alone in a party full of people he should supposedly know from spending nearly seven years at school with: even longer with some because of primary. Everyone looks like a stranger, and Louis feels like he’s been drowning at the edge of a river where the current’s pushed everyone ahead of him – now he’s left miles behind with water choking his lungs, unable to see what everyone else can see. All he sees is the backs of everyone he once felt equal to – they’re all rushing ahead with their lives, laughing and happy and all of them know each other. Louis doesn’t even know the library boy, who’s supposedly in his year and pally with Niall, Liam and Zayn.  
He feels alienated. But that’s no one’s fault but his own, really. Louis chose to put his head down and stick to three friends (they didn’t…but Louis’s totally fine with not being someone’s only one) (really).  
Louis tries to stop thinking. He’s pretty sure it’s possible to master that – he saw it on a TV show once; just switching of the mind like a light switch so the brain becomes black like an unlit room – full of nothing. It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Louis’s still pretty disappointed about that; always fancied himself some sort of epic Chinese warrior. The type that can like, walk on water…or fire…or something.  
Louis presses a hand against the wall he’s leaning on, tracing the hard scrape of the brick beneath the pads of his fingertips. It grounds him slightly, vaguely stops the spinning. Louis regrets drinking. He regrets a lot, actually.  
He opens his eyes, looks out across the garden, but refuses to look at the stars. It’s okay that way – he focuses on the people who aren’t looking at him; wonders how they all look so warm despite wearing thin t-shirts when it’s not yet summer.  
Then he’s catching sight of a purple Jack Wills hoody, chocolate curls that bounce around the boy’s ears and a laugh that Louis wants to crawl into and wrap himself in – maybe die in. He’d die happy. Louis shudders up from where he’s leaning against the side of Eleanor’s house and tries to stare discretely as library boy walks past. When did he get out here? Has he spotted Louis? The boy’s nearing Louis now, about to walk past him to go back inside, smile cheerful and bright even under the dark sky. The boy looks straight at Louis as he walks past, a smile curving his lips. Louis’s heart stutters and he thinks it’s going to fail – a smile directed right at him – before library boy is stepping back inside and his heart regains its lost beat, bouncing around with joy but contained within itself.  
Louis needs a moment before he can still his trembling fingers and muster up the courage to step back inside. The music sounds more bearable now, not a pounding in Louis’s head but instead a catchy beat he feels his body wanting to move to. The air is colder, not pressing down on his lungs and disabling breath but feeding gently through his nose and easily slipping through his bloodstream. It’s all alright; all okay now. It’s getting later, the world dark outside the wide window Louis passes as he spots Niall in the crowd. He can’t see anything aside from his own reflection staring back at him, and so he tries at smile at it, watches his cheeks lift and sees his hair a little mussed at the back from running his hands through it subconsciously. Echoed in the window are bodies moving behind Louis, endless faces that ignore him, this funny kid staring at himself and smiling wide like he’s just discovered life for the first time. Someone’s put the Eagles on, Hotel California, and when Louis reaches Niall he’s got an air guitar in his hands and he’s singing the lyrics at full pelt – distracted and likely drunk.  
“Niall.” Louis reaches up to his friends’ shoulders and swings an arm around them, smiling wide as Niall enthusiastically greets him.  
“Hey mate! Have hardly seen you all night, you having fun?” Niall asks, taking a drink from the can in his hand, eyes wide and sparkling and happy.  
“I’m great mate.” Louis nods, spotting the library boy with Grimshaw and instantly nudging into Niall’s side, lowering his voice slightly before asking, “Who’s that guy with Nick?”  
Niall follows Louis’s eyes,  
“Nick Grimshaw?” When Louis nods, Niall laughs, “That’s Harry Styles – he moved from some place in…Cheshire, I think, a couple months ago. He’s a cool lad. Why? You interested?”  
Louis shrugs, running the name Harry Styles through his head.  
“Might be,” He smirks slightly when Niall nudges his side, “Does he swing that way?”  
“Might do,” Niall muses, staring over at Harry again, who’s got his mouth wide open in laughter, face bright and wide and so beautiful Louis thinks his eyes are glued to the boy. “He hangs out with Grimmy, has a lot of girl friends – but that doesn’t mean anything. Just go for it, mate.” Niall offers, turning to Louis and smiling wide at him. “I’m gonna go talk to Barbara Palvin. I think she’s interested and I’m totally into her.”  
Louis throws his friend a thumbs up, seeing how giddy Niall gets around the girl. He watches as Niall crosses the room to Barbara, who watched him coming with a wide smile. She flips her hair off her shoulder as Niall greets her, both wearing wide smiles that Louis mirrors as he watches Harry Styles shake his hips in a terrible dance to the music that seems to be filling and expanding into every inch of the house.  
For the rest of the night Louis talks to Eleanor and watches Harry Styles; the way the boy smiles at everyone and shake his hips to the music almost unconsciously – generous with smiles that Louis wishes with a terrible longing in his chest would be directed at him. Vaguely, through a haze of inebriated bodies and Louis’s tranquil state, Louis sees Niall and Barbara having a sloppy snog against the wall. Liam and Zayn gravitating closer and closer to each other through the night also does not go unnoticed by Louis – although he’s slightly more interested in training his eyes over to where Nick Grimshaw keeps sliding his hand round Harry’s waist and death glaring while trying to convince himself that the way Harry pulls away a little each time is because he’s not interested in Nick. However, when Louis glances over at Liam and Zayn to see them kissing, Zayn braced over Liam on the coach, tongues stuck in each other’s mouths, he forgets about Harry Styles because the roar of happiness for his friends is too loud in his ears and drowns out all other thought. Finally his friends bucked up their ideas and realised they’d be perfect for each other – Louis can’t wait for Monday to be able to tease them mercilessly. They’re going to be so soppy and coupley that it’s going to make Louis sick – but he’ll live through it with minimum groaning because for Liam and Zayn to be so happy together will be Louis’s top priority.  
Louis looks back at Harry Styles even as he dances with Eleanor, twirling her around her living room that, with fairy lights painting a purple colour on the ceiling, looks like a lavender sky. Louis’s feet ache from standing on them continuously, but times flies as he watches Harry – the library boy who laughs the most carefree giggle Louis has ever heard and has short bouncy curls that line his head like an angel’s halo.  
By one the next morning, most of the guests have left, including Harry, who went out at twelve with Nick and Cara without having looked at Louis once the entire night, giggling like a happy drunk fool who doesn’t need Louis like Louis feels like he needs Harry. Subsequently, since twelve Louis has felt pretty bored, but his eyes have been steadily drooping so, without much thought, Louis decides to curl up on a sofa scattered with sweet-smelling popcorn, ears ringing in an unpleasant but not disastrous way. The last thing he’s sure of is seeing Zayn with his arm snuggled around Liam’s shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to the other boy’s hair as they walk together out of the house.  
\---  
Louis is awakened rudely with his phone buzzing uncomfortably in his jeans pocket, before bursting into a cheap phone call jingle. Groaning, mouth feeling like the inside of a dumpster and jeans digging tightly into his stomach, Louis fishes for his phone and, after nearly dropping it on the floor, accepts the call and puts the damned thing to his ear.  
“Hello?” He mumbles, clearing his throat multiple times and running a hand through his hair – instantly regretting it when he discovers a piece of popcorn settled in hair sticky with whatever he had managed to accumulate last night.  
“Louis William Tomlinson!” His mother’s voice is screeching down into his ear (Louis can feel it tremble down his ear canal, bouncing around a brain too tired to cope with such a thing early on a Saturday morning), and shit, Louis was supposed to go back home last night.  
“…Shit.”  
“Louis Tomlinson, you get home right now. I was worried – you said you’d be back last night. I presume you’re at Eleanor’s?”  
Louis nodded, realised his mum couldn’t see him, and reaffirmed with a soft sound.  
“In fifteen minutes you’d better be back here, or so help me God.”  
Louis’s head pounds when his mum finally ended the call, his mouth parched and in desperate need of water. Deciding he can’t stay to help Eleanor clean up the hurricane that has run havoc on her house, Louis shouts up a quick bye as he stands at the bottom of the stairs, before he exits the house, eyes still bleary.  
\---  
Monday can’t come around soon enough after Louis spent the rest of his weekend wishing to see Harry’s face again. Harry Styles. Library boy. The cutest smile Louis has ever seen with curls that should be illegal and dimples that seem to defy beauty. Louis’s smile is wide as he hoists his backpack further up his back, crossing the threshold into school with thoughts scattering about his head like light-speed in his mind. Has Harry touched this very display board? Louis can’t help but wonder as he passes it as he heads towards his first period room, pondering if Harry’s footsteps on this very carpet would show up brighter than the rest, tracing paths for Louis to follow until they entwine. The book in his bag feels absurdly heavy.  
Niall’s already waiting in maths, smile huge and Louis can spot a–  
“Is that a lovebite?”  
Niall nods and his grin widens,  
“Yep!” He says proudly; smugly. “Barbara is fucking manic.”  
“Well, good for you mate.” Louis slips into his chair, passing a pen to Niall because he knows he won’t have one, settling down and immediately chewing absentmindedly on his own.  
Maths is a total fucking bore as per usual, and Louis struggles to pay attention, especially with Niall next to him with his phone out and playing some shit looking golfing game. It’s marginally better than maths though – despite that Niall kind of totally sucks at it – so Louis focuses on that, watching the clock count down the seconds, minutes, and eventual hour until the bell rings and everyone gets up for second period.  
Liam and Zayn are holding hands at lunch. They’re walking down the corridor hand in hand, sides pressed together. No one’s saying anything – no homophobic slurs, which makes Louis so fucking happy – it took his friends long enough so he doesn’t need anything happening that could push them back into their shells again. When they pass the library, Louis takes a deep breath which comes out shaky on the exhale, nervously excuses himself and pushes the door to the library open with one hand.  
The library is surprisingly a nice room – Louis regrets not having visited it before. Maybe if he had he’d already know library boy. Taking another deep breath, Louis nearly runs right back out of the library, before he regains his courage and takes The Hobbit from his bag. He’d started reading it months ago and never really got anywhere with it (Louis’s endeavours into reading are pretty sporadic). Before he can back out, Louis pushes out the other chair at Harry’s table and sits down on it, shoving his bag by his feet and flipping through the pages in his hands a few times.  
Harry is biting his lip and has headphones in, music loud enough so Louis can almost hear it – distant though; not enough so he can pick out any words or distinguishable rhythm. Harry has one of the books from the Song Of Ice And Fire series open in front of him, green eyes flickering as they scan the pages quickly (Louis doesn’t know which one, he’s never read them and isn’t that cultured).  
Louis’ fingers are shaking, the flame of a lighter that the wind is determined to quell, and they seem now unable to find his place in The Hobbit. The pages are slipping through his fingers, paper rough and scratchy. His collar is itching his neck. His trousers are too tight; they’re digging into the soft of his thighs. Louis is fumbling; breathing feeling obnoxiously loud in the library where noise is white and silent like a blanket of snow draped around the room.  
“Shit.” The word is soft, but Harry’s ear somehow picks up on Louis’ tone and then they’re looking at each other, two stupid boys in a library reading widely acclaimed fantasy novels from different generations.  
Harry’s eyes are wide and surprised for a fraction of a second before quickly filling with recognition. It makes his green eyes lighter, Louis observes. They’re like spongy moss, and Louis can feel himself falling in them, limbs soft and heavy as if they are being moulded on memory foam. Harry’s cheeks are slightly pink, matching the unceremonious colour of his lips that should be scandalous. Harry pops out one of his earbuds and the music gets louder before he pauses it, and smiles crookedly at Louis, the smile pulling up the left side of his face like he’s trying to control his emotions but is not fully able to.  
“Sorry.”  
Louis loves his voice. He’s never heard a voice that distinct on a teenager before – it belongs on a man who has worlds of wisdom and eons of experience.  
“Hey, you’re Louis, right?” It’s not intentionally cliché, but Louis’ heart did let out a thudding lurch at being recognised. His stomach is swooping like it’s playing quidditch.  
Louis swallowed, placing his book down on the table and looking directly at Harry, who had a slight smile on his lips, “Yeah, how’d you know?”  
Harry shrugged, “Last Thursday, I think it was, you stared at me in the corridor, and then I enquired about you to Niall on Saturday night. You know you stare a lot? I was only rightly curious.”  
Louis shifted in his seat, “Ah, sorry.” But, well, Louis wasn’t sorry at all; his heart swelled as if it was attached to a water pump, becoming loud and full.  
“I was wondering if you want to…” Louis’ voice stuttered, clogged with nerves.  
“If you’re wondering if I want you to, I want you to.”  
“To?” Louis questions.  
“To ask me on a date.” Harry’s tone was matter of fact, like an endearing ‘silly’ should be tacked on to the end of his sentence.  
“Oh. Ok. Do you want to go on a date with me?”  
“Of course I do.” Harry said. His eyes are twinkling and if Louis was Harry like Harry is Harry, he’d be quoting Romeo And Juliet in that moment; two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. Alas, Louis is no Harry, and certainly no Shakespeare, but he certainly knows Harry is the most beautiful boy Louis has ever laid eyes on.  
They both pick up their respective books and read in silence, but Harry’s leg keeps nudging Louis’ from under the table, and their toothy smiles are giving everything away.  
\---  
On their first date they read Shakespeare sonnets together and it’s the stupidest thing Louis has ever done, but he’d never trade it for anything. 

FIN.


End file.
